I cannot recall all the times I’ve sat down to write over the last eight months. The words are hard to find.
How do you begin to write about something so broken and yet, so beautiful?
How do you tell an honest story, when so much of it is not yours to tell?
I want to honor my daughter’s story. I want to honor her birth mom. I want to honor what the Lord has done among us and in us through this season of our life. I want to be honest and authentic, but I also want to protect and cherish parts of my daughter’s story that will be hers to share one day.
Adoption is beautiful but it is birthed out of brokenness. “Sorrowful yet always rejoicing” is how I have felt. There is SO MUCH JOY in my heart for my daughter. At times I could burst with my love for her. But weightiness has also been welcomed through adoption. Someone else sits on the other side of this adoption. I will not pretend otherwise. She carried our daughter tenderly those 9 months, when it was anything but easy. She courageously chose life, when the world told her she shouldn’t. She has loved in the most selfless way I’ve ever witnessed on this earth. Many think, in certain circumstances, it’s easy or natural to make an adoption plan. But let me assure you, there is nothing easy or natural about birthing a child you’ll never kiss goodnight. So while there is so much joy there is also great sorrow. Adoption comes with so much gain, but first there had to be loss.
Sorrowful yet always rejoicing.
My mind travels back to the hospital. We had been there for days. Baby girl was taking her own sweet time entering the world. She was in no hurry to leave the warm and loving womb of her courageous birthmother. I’ll never forget that tender moment, the moment I heard her cry. I stopped pacing the floor and stared at the door, heart pounding, hands shaking. There was a silence I had not known.
The door opened.
The nurse looked us in the eye, tears streaming down her face.
We began to walk.
There she was, in the clear incubator being rolled down the long quiet hallway. She was wrapped in blankets, her head covered with that blue and pink hospital hat, her skin red, cheeks full, eyes closed, laying silently in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people.
Tears welled up in my eyes.
There was a certain kind of somber as we walked down that long hallway following the incubator. As the distance grew larger between this brand new life and the one who had given birth to her, it all began to sink in a little deeper.
I would gently hold her warm body in my hands, but she wouldn’t.
I would nurse her to sleep, but she wouldn’t.
I would walk out arms full, but she wouldn’t.
As we entered our hospital room I realized the gift with which we had been entrusted. I felt then what I feel now, thankful, humbled. I knew then, what I know now; this baby girl, our daughter, she is His. We’ve been entrusted with her life and at times, as her mama, I weep with the gravity of what this means.
I hold her gently, knowing her tender heart needs shaping.
I wipe her tears, knowing He will one day meet her in her sorrow.
I nurture her spirit, knowing I’ve been entrusted with her life.
My heart explodes with love for our little one. I cannot imagine our life without her. Her mere two years of breathing on this earth has brought so much joy and laughter to our home. Our hearts are full. She is a delight. We are in a season of tasting the sweetness of answered prayers and fulfilled longing.
We are thankful. We are humbled. We are rejoicing.